Uncharted
by lollypopf
Summary: Continuation of my other two stories ("Thanks for the Memories" and "Losing Grip"). Picks up a few years after "Losing Grip" left off. Fimogen-focused, just in case that wasn't obvious.
1. Chapter 1- One Sweet Love

**Chapter 1-** One Sweet Love

"Greetings, Darth Elevator. How's your day been so far?" Imogen asked cheerfully, while stepping into the elevator. Her eyes habitually followed the man's finger as it pressed the button labeled '28', and the gold-leafed doors slid shut in front of them. Even after four years of Upper East Side living, it still never failed to amaze her that tasks as trivial as elevator-button-pushing were chiseled art forms in that intriguingly unique city.

"It's had its ups and downs," he smiled, winking at the quirky young woman. Imogen could not even begin to recall the large number of times he had used that pun with her, but still she met it with a polite laugh every single time. Being friendly was something she prided herself on, and she was determined not to let the infamous New Yorker attitude corrupt her. "How about yourself, Mrs. Moreno?"

Opening the red folder that was tucked underneath her arm, she eagerly pulled out her freshly penciled sketch and handed it off to the older man. "My day was terrific, actually! I landed a new account. In approximately ten months you should be seeing _this_ fancy schmancy new theater off the end of West 40th—just have to get some pesky zoning issues straightened out, then it will be underway!" Her voice was enthusiastic, as Imogen returned the building design to her folder after he had inspected it.

"Congratulations! It's a very beautiful sketch. I like this one even more than that studio one you did a while back—That was my favorite Moreno-original up until today." The man shifted his gaze down towards the smiling woman and presented her with a well-mannered wink.

"Thanks, Hank! I can't wait to tell Fiona! Is she home yet?"

"Mrs. Coyne graced us with her arrival around seven tonight. She appeared to be very preoccupied this evening, arguing with someone over the phone concerning mislabeled hemlines or something." The bell dinged just as he finished his sentence. Outstretching his white-gloved hand, he held down on the 'open doors' button, to ensure they would not close prior to Imogen having a chance to exit. "Here we are, Mrs. Moreno. Enjoy your night celebrating."

Before stepping forward, she nodded at the kind man. "Will do, Hank. See ya on the flip side!" Her feet guided her out as she entered their floor of the building, fumbling for her keys. Looking up towards the door, she spotted a key already stuck inside of the lock and rolled her eyes. _Fiona must be VERY preoccupied today_, she smirked to herself. She pulled the abandoned set of keys out of the knob and opened the already unlocked door.

The socialite sat at her expensive walnut desk in the study with her eyes remaining glued on the laptop in front of her as she heard the door open and then close. Her persistent fingers tapped away at the keyboard, sending off yet another distressed email to her newly hired assistant. As she heard light footsteps approaching from their living room, the corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile. Immediately the large condo felt more full, knowing there was one Imogen Moreno now inside of it.

It wasn't long before two warm tan hands reached around and covered Fiona's eyes. "Guess who." Imogen instructed while leaning down to press a light kiss to her wife's cheek.

"Hmm…" Fiona cocked her head to the side slightly. "Eli?" Reaching up, she pulled the petite hands away from her face and swiveled around in her chair. Her happy expression fizzled away in pretend dissatisfaction. "Oh, it's just _you_."

Offended, the younger woman responded with a dramatic gasp. "Fiona Coyne, you wound me!"

"Kidding! Knew it was you, obvi. Eli's hands are _much_ softer than that," she teased. "Now come here, I've missed you," Fiona pulled Imogen down to match her height so that she could give her a proper welcome-home kiss—the kind of kiss that still left both of them feeling completely enamored, even after nine years of being together.

Very content, the eccentric young woman straightened herself back up and began slowly spinning her wife's chair in circles. Fiona shook her head from side to side in amusement and rolled her eyes, allowing Imogen to continue the spins. "So I have some pretty great news! Want to go out and talk about it over dinner?"

Pressing her heels down firmly to the floor, the socialite halted the chair's motions to prevent getting any dizzier. Letting out a sigh, she looked up at Imogen with burdened eyes. "Immy, I so wish we could, but I really don't have any extra time to go to dinner tonight. I _have_ to finish revising the Fall line if I have any chance of meeting next week's deadline. I'm sorry, hon," she frowned.

"It's okay, I understand," the younger woman assured, though the disappointment was hard to disguise in her voice. "The clothes aren't going to design themselves, right?" With a half-grin, she leaned down once more to give Fiona another quick peck. "Love you. I'll let you get back to it," she murmured into her ear before changing her direction to exit the room.

"Im?"

"Yeah?" Turning around, Imogen again faced the curly brunette.

Fiona stared at her wife for a few seconds, observing the girl's discouraged appearance. If there was one thing she hated doing more than anything in the world, it was disappointing Imogen. "You didn't tell me what your great news was..."

"Oh… it's nothing really," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Mr. Yomako liked my design—he gave me his account."

Jerking her head back and lifting up her arms, Fiona rose from her cushioned chair. "What do you mean '_it's nothing'_?" she asked, astonished. "That's amazing news! You've been working on that design for weeks—And_ of course_ he loved it, because it's magnificent!" Taking a few steps forward, she enveloped the other girl in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you."

Imogen beamed, relishing in the intoxicating hug. "Thanks," she exhaled. "It just feels so good to have it all finally pay off. Like a huge weight is lifted off of my shoulders."

Pulling away from their embrace, the socialite looked into those deep brown eyes. After all those years, she still didn't have the heart to deny that girl of anything. Twisting around, she moved towards her desk and shut her laptop. "Come on," she said while linking her arm through Imogen's and pulling her out of the study. "Let's go celebrate."

"What about the Fall line?" she questioned, confused, as she was being guided into the living room towards the front door.

"The Fall line will just have to wait…" The socialite grabbed her red blazer from the hook and then turned her attention back to Imogen. "Because tonight I am taking my incredibly talented wife out for a fabulous dinner to celebrate her grande réussite."

"Really?" Imogen squealed as she brought her forehead close to the other girl's. "You, Fiona Coyne, are the best. Like for realsies, _the best_," she whispered. Her small hand wrapped around the back of her wife's neck, drawing her face in enough for their noses to touch, but not quite letting their lips meet. Her free hand hooked onto Fiona's pant's pocket and gently tugged, bringing her body near to her own. Closing her eyes, she felt her heart pounding inside of her chest, as she stood there feeling entirely content with their charming little life.

Fiona moved her nose, softly letting it graze along the rest of her wife's face. Biting her own lower lip, she could feel the anticipation building inside of her. Patience wearing thin, Fiona let the red blazer fall to the floor and wrapped her arms around Imogen's waist. With tenacity, she crashed their lips together and allowed her lust to take the lead.

"Dinner will still be there in an hour," Imogen noted mid-kiss, as she began to seductively push her wife towards the big grey couch.

"Yes… yes it will." The curly brunette fell into the cushions as she watched the younger woman begin unzipping her own jacket. The zipper got a little stuck due to Imogen yanking it down too rapidly, which caused the younger girl's brows to furrow in frustration as she continued her attempts to remove the garment. Fiona couldn't help but giggle watching her perfectly silly wife. "Hey, Immy?"

Perking up her head, she looked forward into the socialite's strikingly beautiful eyes, continuing to further remove her jacket. "Yeah, Fi?"

Fiona ran her fingers through her long dark hair and tilted her head just a tad, admiring the young woman she had built her life with. "You make me really happy," she smiled.

Briefly, Imogen stopped fiddling with her clothes and let the words warm her heart. She sat down beside her wife and then gently grazed her cheek with her tan fingers. "I'm glad…because _you_ make _me_ happy, too," she breathed.

Feeling the other girl's irresistible touch upon her face, Fiona closed her eyes, cherishing the moment. Her body was shifted further backwards as a pair of warm lips began to trail up her long neck. Completely besotted, there was zero doubt in her mind that celebrating Imogen's success was well worth the all-nighter that she would now have to pull in order to have any chance at all of finishing that chaotic Fall line.


	2. Chapter 2- Come Round Soon

**Chapter 2-** Come Round Soon

"How's your Lobster Tartine?" Imogen asked, eyeing her wife's meal enviously while she pushed a silver fork around in her Broiled Squab. "Is it as yummy as it always is?"

"Oh my god, it's divine," the socialite professed as she brought the cloth napkin up to dab her shimmering lips. "Do you like yours?"

The younger woman's eyes shifted around in their sockets. "Ummm…."

Knowing Imogen all too well, Fiona narrowed her gaze suspiciously and set down her utensils. "Let me guess," her voice heavy with sass, "you want to trade?"

"Yes, please!" The quirky young woman was already reaching over to switch their plates as Fiona shook her head in amusement and took a sip of her water.

"I remember the days when you would find one thing you like at each restaurant and only order that every single time. What happened? Bored with tradition? Trying to explore bigger and better things?"

"Not at all!" Imogen countered. "I just feel so guilty whenever the waiter recites the 'Chef's Special' speech—it takes him like three minutes every time, so I feel like it's my _duty_ to order it, or else his entire monologue goes to waste."

After cutting off a small piece of her newly adopted dish, Fiona chewed slowly, savoring its rich flavor. It was easily one of the best meals she had ever tasted, she decided, and it completely bewildered her that Imogen wasn't a fan—though the socialite was secretly very happy that the switch had been made…after all, she had now been introduced to a new favorite dish. "You know, you're pretty lucky to have _such_ a generous wife that will just agree to swap food whenever your little heart desires. Honestly, the things I do for you…" Taking another bite of that delicious Broiled Squab, the older girl grinned internally.

"Well your tastes are just so refined, Mrs. Coyne. I never have to worry about your willingness to try new things. Most of the time you even like them." Fiona shifted her blue eyes around noncommittally. "That's what I thought," the younger girl laughed, giving her wife's thigh a small squeeze as the waiter approached their table, interrupting their conversation.

"How does everything taste, ladies?" He picked up their glasses, topping them off with water.

"Everything is perfect," Fiona responded, keeping her eyes fixed on Imogen. She reached down and grabbed the warm hand from her thigh and clasped it in her own two. "Since we're celebrating tonight, should we have a glass of the hard stuff?"

Imogen shot the older girl a bemused look. "The hard stuff?"

"Yeah," she winked, turning her attention back to the waiter. "We will have a bottle of your _finest_ sparkling apple cider. Oh and maybe bring hers out in a cup with a lid—she tends to spill."

"Fiona! That was only two times!" Imogen blushed, feeling completely embarrassed. She buried her face into her wife's shoulder.

Poking the other girl's hip, the socialite shook her head. "You're forgetting about The River Café."

"Fine, _three_ times!" she mumbled.

Fiona nodded knowingly. "Okay, okay, no lid _this_ _time_. Guess she'll learn proper table etiquette _eventually_." Her brows furrowed as the waiter scratched through a sentence on his notepad. Did he really think she was serious? "Wooow," she whispered softly so that only Imogen could hear.

"So just the cider?" He shifted his focus between the two.

"Hmm… anything else you want?"

"Salted caramel ice-cream?" Imogen looked at the curly brunette with hopeful eyes.

Fiona exhaled, knowing exactly how hyper the ice-cream would make her wife. In that moment she finally realized that she was married to a five year old. "The ice-cream sounds like a fab idea," she surrendered, sending the young man away with their order. She was quickly thanked with an enthusiastic kiss to the cheek.

"So," Imogen breathed into the older girl's ear, "What were we talking about, again?"

"Umm, I think it was something about me being amazing, me trying new things, you trying to seduce me—the usual."

The quirky young woman giggled. "Oh is that so?" She was answered with a nod. "Well I'd _hate_ to leave a conversation unfinished..." Her tan finger grazed up the socialite's pale arm with a slight tickle. She turned her brown eyes upwards to study her wife's features—something she never grew tired of doing. As she continued sitting quietly in their booth, playing with the other girl's arm, she realized her strong dislike for the dimmed lighting, because someone as beautiful as Fiona Celestine Arabella Coyne deserved to be fully illuminated at all times. "So about you trying new things…" her voice broke through the silence. "How is your new assistant working out? Elisha, is it?"

"_Eliza_," Fiona corrected, cocking her head to the side, confused by the sudden shift in discussion. "Imogen Moreno, is that jealousy I'm sensing?"

"Well she looks like a model, Fiones!…I just don't see why you had to fire Peggy…" her voice trailed, while her brown eyes wandered the room.

"Peggy was a nightmare! She didn't even know the difference between a gusset and a gore…" The socialite scoffed, remembering her incompetent employee. "Besides, it doesn't matter how Eliza looks. She's hardly my type."

Fidgeting with the napkin in front of her, Imogen tried to remain casual. "Oh? Well what _is_ your 'type'?"

"I generally tend to go for incredibly beautiful weirdos with a particular affinity for wearing toe socks to bed." Fiona crossed her legs underneath the table and thanked the waiter as he placed the two flutes of cider and a plate of ice-cream in front of them.

Ignoring the new additions to the table, the younger woman perked up her ears curiously. "Do these weirdos that you find _so_ desirable also happen to enjoy banana, strawberry, mango juice with a dash of cinnamon?"

"Obviously," Fiona agreed, "and they absolutely _must_ adore everything monkey-related. Not having these qualities is definitely a deal-breaker."

Imogen smiled, looking down at their table. It was always comforting to be reminded that her odd and unique characteristics were cherished by the gorgeous fashionista. _Eliza is way too boring to ever catch the eye of a Fiona Coyne_, she concluded, with every ounce of her jealousy fading away. "Where in the world are you going to find such a perfect specimen?"

The older girl pretended to look around the room, eyeing the surrounding people. "Hmm… I don't know. Do you know of anyone?" she asked, while placing her hand on top of Imogen's fidgeting fingers, and catching those brown eyes with her own.

"I just might…" Leaning over, Imogen placed an affectionate kiss on her wife's lips, before being alerted by the socialite's ringing phone. She watched inquisitively as the phone was retrieved from the large purse and the number was inspected, growing nosier as she noticed Fiona's eyes widened.

"Hello?" Fiona answered with a nervous voice. "This is she… Yes, I remember." She held up a finger as she saw her wife mouthing to ask whom it was on the phone, growing annoyed with only hearing half of the conversation. "Are you serious? Wow…that's…wow… Yes, she's with me, I'll let her know. Okay, that sounds good. Thank you, you too." Setting down the phone, Fiona took another bite of the Broiled Squab and then sipped on her water.

The younger woman lifted up her arms dramatically. "Um, hello…? Who was that?"

"No one important," Fiona shrugged. She motioned towards the flutes that were still resting in front of them. "Shall we toast?"

Not even attempting to mask her irritation, Imogen shook her head from side to side. "After you tell me who that was and what was so important that you had to answer it during dinner—a dinner, let me remind you, that you are having to celebrate _your wife_." She pointed her determined thumb at herself, and stared at Fiona, awaiting clarification.

"Fine, I'll just toast by myself." After picking up one of the cider-filled glasses, the socialite raised it into the air, ignoring the other woman's obvious frustration. "To another remarkable Moreno design being brought to life—you are so talented and I love you so much, Immy. No one deserves this more than you." Lowering her flute, she tapped it against the one that was still resting on top of the table, and then took a small sip. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she saw Imogen's impatient fingers tapping on the tabletop, refusing to acknowledge her words. "Oh and one more toast," Fiona picked up the other girl's flute and forced it into her tan hand. "To _us_—soon to be _parents_ of what will surely be one ridiculously spoiled baby boy."

Imogen's tapping fingers halted immediately as the words reached her ears, while her hand that was holding the glass continued hovering in mid air. "Parents?" she asked cautiously, not yet getting her hopes up until she could verify that she had heard her wife correctly.

"Mhmm," the socialite confirmed complacently. "That was the agency, Im. We were chosen—Hayley chose _us_." Her hand wiped away a tear as it was developing in her eye. "We're going to have a baby," she whispered, searching the other girl's face for a reaction.

The flute fell from Imogen's hand, spilling onto the table as she lunged forward to embrace her wife. She closed her eyes, letting the long-awaited news sink in. It seemed impossible—impossible to be able to feel _that_ amount of insurmountable happiness.

"That's it," Fiona sighed, looking at the wet table and the cider-soaked ice-cream, "you're getting a cup with a lid next time. No excuses."


	3. Chapter 3- City

**Chapter 3-** City

Looking at the time in the corner of her computer screen, Fiona felt her eyes growing increasingly heavy. A yawn forced its way out of her mouth. Yet another late night at work was keeping her away from where she really wanted to be—at home snuggling up to Imogen. It had been about five weeks since they'd received the good news of their impending new arrival, but there had barely been any time to celebrate. The workload picked up tremendously in preparation of the upcoming design release and the young fashionista had to put in twice as much time to make up for most of her employees' seeming incompetence.

She glanced to the side of her desk, spotting a picture of Imogen that had been taken not too long ago, and picked it up, smiling as she remembered its origin—Fiona had returned home late one evening to find her wife passed out on the floor in their spare room, sketch pad in one hand, charcoal pencil laying next to the other. The pages were filled with a bundle of drawings—extravagant ideas on how they would design and decorate the nursery. Completely enamored with the sight of the adorable resting girl, she quickly took out her phone and snapped a picture before waking her up and ushering her to their bedroom. The next day the picture made its way into a silver frame on her disheveled desk.

Setting the frame down to its original position, her heart panged with the guilt of having to be away from home so much lately. It was definitely not how the two wanted to spend the time before their son's arrival, but she rationed with herself that if she could just get through these busy weeks at work now, then she would be able to schedule more time off when he was born.

Looking up, her icy blue eyes spotted her assistant making her way through the glass doors of her office. "Did you finish sending those emails?" she asked as the blonde girl stepped inside.

Setting a stack of papers down in front of Fiona, she nodded. "Yep, and I reworked some of these budget reports too. Turns out Rebecca documented the same silk purchase three times, so I went ahead and fixed that. That gives us a lot more spending room to use on the models' alterations."

"Are you serious? That's the third time Rebecca has done something like that in the past month. I'm going to have to talk to her _again_." Frustrated with the never-ending mistakes, she let out a deep sigh. "Thank you, Eliza. I really don't know how I'd get everything done on schedule without you."

Eliza rolled her eyes and let out a small, good-humored scoff. "I'm sure you'd manage, Mrs. Coyne. You exaggerate my worth."

Turning her gaze back to face the monitor, Fiona's fingers swiftly began gliding over the keys, beginning her next tedious task of the evening. "I've had four different assistants in the past year. Trust me, I am _not_ exaggerating your worth…and I've told you to just call me Fiona. You're only two years younger than me; 'Mrs. Coyne' sounds so wretchedly ancient."

"Well you _are_ my boss."

"Yes, but I'm your _young_ and _fabulous_ boss. I choose to be referred to as such," she flipped her black curls behind her shoulder with sass.

The younger woman laughed and shook her head. "I guess I can't argue with you, there…_Fiona."_

"Much better," she approved. "Now go home before I force you to work even longer tonight. Its bad enough that I have to endure these hours; I am _not_ going to subject anyone else to this misery," the socialite joked.

Before turning around, the blonde lifted her slender hand with a slight wave, "Okay, goodnight! See you first thing in the morning." Once her wave was met with a nod, her long legs glided towards the door. Just as it was about to close shut behind her, her fingers reached up and caught it. "Actually…" she paused, "you know what?" Spinning her body back around, she faced Fiona. The brunette looked up quizzically. "Why don't I stay and finish this stuff. You should get home to your wife, and I really don't mind staying later tonight."

"That's an incredibly generous offer, but I can't possible leave you here to do this stuff, Eliza. You'd be here until at least three in the morning." Fiona held her focus on the computer, never breaking her concentration. The quicker she typed, the quicker she could get home under those blankets with her wife, she kept telling herself. "You've already gone above and beyond your assistant duties. _Go home_," her voice reiterated.

The young woman's yellow heels clacked forward. "That's just it—I don't _want_ to go home. I would honestly rather be here working…" The socialite looked up, furrowing her brow. "Jared moved out yesterday; the apartment just feels weird…and empty right now. I could use the distraction."

"Oh…" Fiona paused from her unfinished invoice, unsure of if she should address the girl's ended relationship with sympathy, or just keep things professional. "Umm…are you sure?" she finally spoke up, deciding on the latter. "I mean we could both stay, and get finished twice as fast?"

Eliza grabbed Fiona's coat and held it out in front of her. "I'm sure," the girl enunciated. "Go home to Imogen. Enjoy as much alone time as you can before the baby comes. Fulfill your 'American Dream' for those of us who haven't found ours yet," she laughed.

Though she was smiling, Fiona could sense the girl's sadness. "Okay," the socialite agreed reluctantly, feeling slightly sorry for her devoted assistant. "But I owe you… _big time_. I'll find a way to make this up to you." She grabbed her house key from inside the top drawer and stood up.

"Just buy me a drink one day when work slows down, and we'll call it even," Eliza reached down to grab the large stack of papers.

Neither having the time nor the energy to delve into explaining her troubled past, Fiona nodded in false-promise, confident that work would never slow down enough to allow for the deliverance of those drinks. A small raise would be an adequate enough reward, she decided, as she eagerly made her way out of the cold office, leaving both the diligent girl and the pile of work behind. Each step that added distance from the chaos of her career put Fiona that much closer to the happiness of her home in that enormously restless city.

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**A/N: Sorry I've been away from this story so long. Been really busy lately, but I DO intend on finishing this. I'll update as I get free-time. Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4- Responsible

**Chapter 4-** Responsible

As quickly as she could hail a cab, she was home and riding up that familiar elevator to their floor. Opening the door as quietly as possible, she made her way into their apartment, doing her best not to make noise in the event that Imogen was already asleep. It was only eleven-thirty, but the quirky young woman had a habit of dozing off at oddly early times. Upon placing her purse and keys down on the marble countertop in the kitchen, she spotted a small blue Post-It note:

_Fi, there's dinner from Miyako's in the fridge for you. Eli and Clare said to tell you hello and that they miss you. I miss you too…Hope work wasn't too crazy tonight. Love you -Im_

Pulling off her heels, she walked into their bathroom and turned on the shower. The warm steam nearly put her to sleep before she was even able to finish cleansing the office off of her. Upon stepping out, Fiona wrapped a large soft towel around her soaked hair and slipped into her incredibly comfortable pajamas. It felt _so _wonderful to be ready for bed before the midnight hour. _Almost _wonderful enough to make her consider quitting her job right then and there, and if it were a job that she loved even a smidge less, she would have. But fashion was her one real passion in life, and living in a beautiful Manhattan loft wasn't exactly cheap.

Unsurprisingly enough, Imogen was found sound asleep on the sofa in the living room. Leaning down, Fiona placed a light and quick kiss to her forehead, before spreading the blanket over her wife's uncovered feet.

"Hey," Imogen said groggily as she slowly stirred awake. "What time is it?" she yawned.

Peeking over at the large clock on the wall, Fiona responded, "12:02. I'm sorry, Immy, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"No, I'm glad you did." The younger woman picked herself up to lean further against the arm of the couch. Grabbing Fiona's hand, she tugged her down so that she was sitting next to her. "Home earlier than normal tonight," she grinned. "It's nice. How was your day?"

Fiona allowed herself to fall further back into the couch cushions and closed her eyes. It was the most relaxed she had felt in weeks. "Busy…as per the usual. But it is so much better now that I'm with you. If we could just stay in this exact spot forever, I would live the rest of my days being incredibly happy, Im."

"Jeepers, Fiones, clingy much?"

"Hey!" the older girl sent a sharp poke into her wife's side, which was met with a huge smile. Imogen repositioned herself to lie across Fiona's lap.

"I've missed this so much," she exhaled. "Sooo…does you being home earlier mean that you're finally finished with all of the crazy late nights spent at work?"

The socialite's heart sank at the optimistic tone of Imogen's voice. She so wished that she could just lie and say yes, to give her wife even a fleeting illusion of good news. But lying tonight would do nothing to mask tomorrow's truth. "No, sadly not," she breathed. "Only reason I'm home this early is because Eliza said she'd finish up the rest of today's assignments. Tomorrow is a new day filled with new priorities."

"Oh…okay…" Disappointment resonated deep through her stomach. Imogen rolled her eyes, and shook her head. "No, actually its _not _okay, Fi." Her body perked up slightly. No point in hiding her honesty now. "I hate this—You've been saying that your hours would get better just as soon as things slow down at work, or just as soon as whatever next assignment you have is over. But things never slow down…and the assignments just keep coming. It's exhausting…I just want my Fiona back. My dinner date, and my movie buddy…my best friend." Her dark brown eyes begged the other girl for any kind of understanding. "Life is just so…uninteresting without you."

Fiona, not quite sure what to say, remained quiet. She knew the current situation was taking its toll on Imogen, and its toll on their relationship…and she knew that quite frankly, the other girl was right—work _never_ slowed down. There was always another deadline waiting behind the current one. The city that never sleeps rarely allows its most career-driven inhabitants to do so either. She wanted nothing more than for Imogen to be happy, and to give her wife everything she ever wanted…but shirking her career wasn't a practical request. They had responsibilities, and with a child on the way, keeping her very competitive salary was more important than ever. "Immy," she paused, taking another minute to gather her thoughts. "Do you remember when we were engaged and pretty much lived in different cities? You were in Toronto, and I was here?"

With a small nod, Imogen answered her question.

"Well that was hard, too. _Really_ hard. I mean we only got to see each other like once a month." Her voice was comforting as she wrapped her arm around her wife. "We _will_ get through this, just like we got through that. It was temporary then, and its temporary now... I _promise_ you."

An end in sight—as long as Fiona promised her there was an end to the loneliness in sight, she believed her. The socialite _never_ broke her promises, especially when they were to Imogen. "Okay," she finally exhaled, "I trust you... I just hope that by the time _he_ gets here, your work will have 'slowed down'," she casually threw in with air-quotes.

"Don't worry," Fiona appeased, "it will."

Cocking an eyebrow, Imogen swiftly tilted her head upwards. "Wait… Why was this Eliza girl so eager to do you any favors?" Her words were laced heavily with jealously, though that went completely unnoticed by her sometimes-oblivious wife.

Confused by the sudden change of subject, Fiona scratched her head. "Well, she just broke up with her boyfriend. Apparently she 'needed the distraction' and wanted to work."

"Hmmpft. Kind of sounds like you're the distraction she's looking for," Imogen quickly remarked, this time her jealously too evident to go overlooked.

Though she tried to hold it in, a small laugh escaped the curly brunette's mouth. "Imogen… She sent me home to spend time with _you!_ You can't possibly be serious," she began running her fingers through the long brown hair, shaking her head at the girl's preposterous theories. If there was one thing she could say about building her life with Imogen, it's that it was definitely never boring.

"That's what she _wants_ you to think, Fiones. Trust me, its just all part of her master plan to get into your very stylish pants. You'll see," she grinned, settling her head back onto the pillow of Fiona's lap.

"Whatever you say, Moreno. But you know you never have anything to worry about," she guaranteed, squeezing Imogen's warm hand for reassurance. Adjusting her back just slightly to a new position, Fiona quickly felt the lack of sleep catching up with her. A big yawn forced its way out. "Enough about my assistants. I'd rather talk more about my wife. How was _your_ day?" she managed, fighting off the slumber as best as she could to take advantage of the rare time she was able to spend at home.

"My day was pretty good, I suppose," she began. "Sent an email to finalize a building permit, had lunch with Eli and Clare…Oh my gosh, Fi, he's so nervous about his play's opening, it's hilarious. You should have seen him—The entire meal he was tapping his finger on the table, nodding along absentmindedly to everything Clare was saying. She got so annoyed with him," Imogen rambled on. "Oh and then Natalie called—she said she wants to come visit soon, but I told her that now wasn't the best time. Maybe in a couple weeks…we'll see. On the way home, I stopped by Starbucks to grab a quick coffee with Hayley. The baby kicked, Fiones, I actually got to _feel_ our son's kick! It was so amazing," her voice trailed, turning over to nuzzle her face further into Fiona's arm. The room was quiet now that her own words were no longer filling it. "Fi?" Looking up, she discovered her wife had already fallen deep into her dreams. For just a moment, she admired the other woman's beauty and grinned. After whispering, "I love you," she laid her head back down to return to her own slumber, feeling incredibly thankful for the little bit of extra time she got to spend with her wife tonight. Fiona was right—together they could get through _anything._


	5. Chapter 5- Manhattan

**Chapter 5-** Manhattan

Stretching her neck to the side, Fiona tried to relieve the pain that stemmed as a consequence from sleeping in an awkward form on the couch. Truth was, she had woken up about an hour after first dozing off, but didn't have the heart to wake Imogen for the second time that night in order to readjust her own position. Wishing and hoping that the next day wouldn't bring any repercussions, she remained sitting upright against the cushions until she was able to return to her slumber. Unfortunately, sometimes wishing and hoping just isn't enough.

Tipping the driver, she exited the cab and felt the rush of cold weather blow through her heavy coat. Though freezing and ached, the thing mostly consuming her thoughts was the promise she had made to Imogen that night. Fiona was determined to use this day to make progress in finally ending the always time-consuming workload.

Sitting very neatly in the very center of her giant desk was the stack of tasks she had left with her assistant—each one completed, and each one flawless. Not very far away from the tall stack of papers was a penned note:

_Hope there are no mistakes. I double-checked everything, and I couldn't find any. Call me if you have any questions. I will be back in the office around 8:30 in the morning. Expect to see a VERY caffeinated Eliza today :) _

Smiling, the fashionista placed the note aside and began filing all of the assignments in her desk drawer. As she sat down, she pulled out her phone to begin a very thankful text message:

7:24 A.M: _Just got to the office—you are amazing! Everything looks perfect, and I seriously cannot thank you enough. Hope this doesn't wake you up. Don't worry about coming in at 8:30, just sleep as long as you need and come in when you're ready. _

With a quick tap of her screen she sent the message. Immediately after, she powered on her computer and began reading the employee productivity reports from human resources. Enough was enough, and the incompetence had gone on for far too long. Overpaid slackers wouldn't fix her problems—but more Elizas just might.

At exactly 8:29, the tall blonde appeared with a tiny knock on the glass door, and two coffees in hand. "Good morning!" she announced, all too perky for someone that had only gotten at most three hours of sleep. "Picked you up a coffee on my way over. Almond milk latte, your fave," her hand outstretched the cup towards her boss.

"You are a godsend," Fiona praised, quickly snatching up the drink. "Why are you here so early, didn't you get my text saying you could come in later?"

"Oh please, sleep is for the unemployed and uninspired! I'm here to work, what do you need from me?"

Always impressed by the young woman, the socialite simply could not believe her luck in finding such an efficient and driven associate, and certainly wasn't going to convince the insanely motivated girl _not_ to work. She'd take any help she could get at this point, especially if it could result in more time with her wife. "Well all right then…I actually have an easy job for you," the curly brunette passed off a large stack of resumes that she pulled from a nearby cabinet. "Read through all of these and then call and schedule an interview with the person that most resembles you."

Eliza's face twisted into a confused expression. "Wait…" she paused nervously, "You're not trying to…_replace _me, are you?"

"God, no!" The older girl laughed. "Quite the opposite—I'm trying to _duplicate _you. If we had more of you around here, this place would be so much more efficient. I'm going through the productivity reports now to find out who I need to fire in order to make room in the budget for another Eliza."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Teasingly insulted, Eliza held her hands up. "You think talent like mine is just so easy to come by? Like I just grow on trees, or something? Let me tell you this, I am one in a _million. _Most people can only _dream_ of the kind of assistance I offer!"

Surprised by the girl's sudden tenacity, Fiona remained in her chair completely amused. "Oh mon dieu, you were not lying about being very caffeinated today, were you? Think that sleep deprivation might finally be catching up with you," she joked. "Now get out there and go find me another you. Those resumes are not going to read themselves!"

"Okay, okay, I will do my best. But let me tell you this, _Mrs. Coyne, _it is slim pickings out there. Hogwarts does not have a surplus of Harry Potters, and the fashion industry is not overflowing with Eliza Mills."

Letting out a sigh, Fiona shook her head from side to side. "Please spare me the Harry Potter references, I get enough of those from my wife to last me a lifetime."

"Well it sounds like you obviously have fantastic taste in women," Eliza quipped.

The corner of the socialite's mouth lifted in a grin as she glanced over at that picture sitting in the corner of her desk. "The best," she admitted truthfully.

"And assistants?"

"Aaaand assistants," Fiona appeased, very eager to get back to work at this point. Though incredibly entertaining, this hyper-Eliza was a large distraction from the many tasks that required the boss's attention.

Nodding her head in the satisfaction of victory, the blonde woman spun around and dropped her already empty coffee cup into the trashcan. "Good. I just wanted to hear you say it." With that, she was out of the door and on the way to her own desk to _finally_ get started on her day's job.

Confident that the new addition to the office would help tremendously with the workload, Fiona was eager to tell Imogen that soon their lives would be returning to some form of normalcy—soon their troubles would be far behind them and they would have all the time in the world to spend together. She was absolutely positive that their little family was sure to be nothing short of perfect.

Already craving her wife's company, she picked up the phone and selected the number at the top of her Favorites list. "I miss you already…have time to meet me for lunch today?"

"Absolutely!" Imogen's voice beamed, "As soon as I finish with the contractors meeting, I'll be free. Where did you want to go?"

"Anywhere your heart desires, Immy."

"Hmm..." the quirky young woman pondered, "How does cheesecake sound? And then after if you have a little time, we can go to that place next door to browse cribs?" Her voice was slightly apprehensive as she wondered if maybe she was asking for too much of the busy fashionista's time.

"Sounds like a fab idea to me. Let me know when your meeting is done and I will meet you there. I love you so much." After a moment of no response, Fiona grew mildly anxious. "Im?"

"Are you sure you have the time, Fiona? If this is because of what I said last night, I'm sorry. I know I probably overreacted, and I know that you're trying the best you can to get all of your work done," Imogen was racing to get all of her words out. "Listen, I understand your crazy schedule, honest, and we can figure something out to make it work. I'll stay up until three in the mornings if I have to so that we can spend time together until your workload slows down. You do so much for me, Fiones, and I don't want to make you choose between me or doing what you love. I want to-"

"Imogen!" Fiona interrupted, incredibly overwhelmed. The pain in her neck had become even more evident than earlier. "Slow down. Breathe," she instructed. "First of all, I _do _have the time. That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about at lunch. I'm looking into getting a second assistant that will be able to take a lot of the stress off of things here. Secondly, _you_ are what I love. I'd choose you any time, any day, against anything."

"Oh…" the younger girl's voice had calmed immediately as the words played through her ears. "Well in that case can we please forget my mini-meltdown?"

Laughing to herself, the socialite agreed that it was definitely something they could do. "So, see you at lunch?"

"Counting down the seconds."

Once they had both hung up, Fiona spun her chair around to look out at the Manhattan skyline through her office's large windows. It really was a beautiful view that she rarely took the time to fully appreciate. As she gazed outside, her thoughts lingered on just how far she and Imogen had come since high school—how many obstacles they had to go through to get to the point they were at now. Finally, it seemed as though everything was falling into place—they each had reached success in their careers; they still loved each other more than anything else in the world, as soul mates rightfully should; and now they were preparing to share that love with a child. Even Fiona's view of the Manhattan skyline was not nearly as breathtaking as her view of her own life. Putting aside work for just a few more minutes, she sat there in her cushioned chair _wishing_ and _hoping_ that all of their biggest troubles were forever behind them, and that they would never again take for granted just how extraordinarily lucky they were to find each other.

…Unfortunately, however, sometimes wishing and hoping just isn't enough.

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**A/N: Enjoy! All reviews are encouraged and appreciated. This story is just getting started, many chapters still to come...**


	6. Chapter 6- Basket Case

**Chapter 6-** Basket Case

"What about this one? It's kind of cute, right?" Imogen asked, holding up the decorated crib bedding.

Making no real effort to hide her honest opinion, Fiona quickly shot the other girl a revolted look. "Ducks, Im? Really? You want our son sleeping on ducks? Do you also want him growing out a long unruly beard and spitting his 'chewin' tobacco all over our Italian marble floors? Honestly, Imogen, I expected more of you."

The ducks swiftly made their way back to the stacked shelves. "Well _you _wanted clowns, and clowns are just down right creepy." Imogen crossed her arms in defense of her selection.

"I've already explained to you twice that I didn't want the _clowns_ per say, just the color scheme that came _with_ the clowns. You already had the walls painted Tea Green. That bedding would have really pulled the whole room together!" The curly brunette continued sifting through the other options. Spotting one in particular, her eyes widened. Immediately, she began piling other beddings on top of it, hoping that her wife would somehow overlook it.

"Okaaaay, fine, so no ducks and no clow—hey, what's that one that you're hiding?"

Fiona tilted her head in confusion, acting as nonchalant as she possibly could. She braced herself to give the performance of a lifetime. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Well you just had one in your hand, and now its nowhere to be seen." The younger woman took a couple steps in Fiona's direction. "What was it?"

Fiona shifted her eyes. "Honestly, Imogen, I have no idea what you're talking about. Did you see the trains over there? Trains might work. They aren't quite as well-matched as the clowns, but they are definitely something I could work with," she insisted, motioning in the opposite direction. Truthfully, the trains were less than desirable, but her failing efforts called for an act of desperation.

"Fiona Celestine Arabella Coyne!" Imogen was pulling a quilt set from the center of the pile. "Monkeys?! You dare hide the monkeys from me?"

Running her fingers through her hair, she let out a sigh. "The monkeys do not match _at all!_"

Imogen was already putting the bedding in the basket. "So we'll repaint the walls! We can do them in that blue color you originally wanted; that would look great with this one," she assured, giving her wife the absolute biggest puppy dog eyes she could manage. "Fi…its _monkeys_."

"But you begged and begged for Tea Green walls. I even asked if you were absolutely sure, and I believe your exact words were, 'Fiona Coyne, there is only one possible color in this whole entire world that I can imagine our son having, and it is this green.' I went and ordered all of the furniture, and flooring, and the curtains to match your chosen scheme. We'd have to return _everything_." Fiona watched as the other girl's animated expression quickly fizzled away.

Frowning and defeated, Imogen picked up the bedding out of the basket, giving it one last adoring stare. Unenthusiastically, she nodded and said good-bye to her treasured find. "You're right, I did say that," she lamented. "Maybe we can just find something we like online… Come on, lets go pay for the crib for now, and tackle his bedding later." She reached her tan hand out, waiting for her wife to grab hold of it with her own.

Fiona took a long breath and exhaled. She really didn't know why she even bothered debating the subject to begin with. Deep down she knew that their crib would be lined with the monkeys as soon as she first laid her blue eyes on the set. "Okay," she caved as she turned around to grab their newest piece of nursery decor. "We can repaint."

"Eeeek!" The petite young woman let out a loud, ecstatic squeal, throwing her arms around her wife's neck. "I promise to love you forever and ever!"

Wincing from the slight pain of her still-sore neck, Fiona eased out of the grasp. "So you're saying you wouldn't have loved me forever and ever if I didn't agree to the monkeys?" she scoffed.

"Well I'm not saying I _wouldn't_ have, but it certainly doesn't hurt your chances to have the guarantee," Imogen winked before making a beeline towards the checkout counter.

_What have I gotten myself into_, Fiona whispered to herself, shaking her head in amusement. Just as she was about to follow the very eager Imogen, she spotted a familiar face browsing the mobiles section—Hayley. Now only a handful of weeks away from her due-date, her stomach was exceptionally large for just a girl of sixteen years—it was such an odd sight to see. Instinctually, Fiona started in her direction to go say a quick hello…but then her feet halted. Her head suddenly flooded with bewilderment. _What is she doing here? _Terrified to let her mind even begin to come up with an answer, she turned around and walked to meet up with her wife. She wanted nothing more than to get out of that place before Imogen even had the chance to spot the girl. "Hey, did you finish checking out?"

"Yep, sure did! The crib will be delivered this evening. Ready to go?" She asked, giving Fiona a quick peck on the cheek. "I know you have people to fire, and assistants to hire." The quirky woman was very proud of her rhyme as she stood there swinging her shopping bag back and forth.

Trying not to let her face show any signs of uneasiness, Fiona flashed a half-hearted smile. "You know it. I'll give it my best effort to be home by nine tonight."

"No pressure! Thanks for the lunch-date, Fiones. I hope the rest of your day goes well! I swear I will try my best to not fall asleep before you make it back tonight."

Knowing Imogen all too well, Fiona fully expected to return to an already-sleeping wife, no matter how early she actually managed to leave the office. "I won't hold my breath," she quipped sarcastically. With a tight hug and an exchange of I love yous, they parted and then took off towards their separate destinations amongst the moving crowds.

As soon as Fiona stepped out of the office elevator, Eliza was clacking in her direction, enthusiastically holding out a resume. The socialite couldn't help but notice the new cup of coffee in her young assistant's hand. Inwardly she groaned and made a mental note to never let the girl work those insanely late hours again.

"Welcome back from lunch! I've done the impossible—I've found a new me! Well…the second best thing," she laughed. "Perry Pratt will be here at 2:30 for his interview with you. Is that okay? I can call him to reschedule if you need."

"No, that sounds fine." Fiona took the piece of paper, not yet caring to look over its contents. "_Him?" _

Keeping pace with her boss, Eliza moved forward. "Yes, Perry is a guy. But he's graduated from NYU with a major in business. He has a minor in design and two years experience as a junior administrator at the Times. He'll be perfect, I promise!"

"Sounds great," Fiona said, half-listening. She had never hired a male assistant before, but was definitely open to new ideas at this point. "Let me know when he gets here." Closing the door behind her before Eliza could add anything else to the conversation, she was happy to be in the privacy of her own office. As she sat down in her desk chair, she tried to calm her racing mind. After all, stressing over what she'd seen at the store would accomplish nothing, and there was probably zero to worry about in the first place. Realizing how crazy she was being over something so harmless, Fiona forced all of the paranoia out of her head and put all of her focus back on accomplishing what she had set out to do that day—fulfill the promise she had made to her wife.

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**A/N: Review! Will update soon.**


	7. Chapter 7- Chasing the Sun

**Chapter 7-** Chasing the Sun

As she finished reviewing her last project of the day, Fiona immediately checked the time on her cell phone—8:23 P.M. Perfect timing. After lunch, she had been working nonstop without so much as a small break in order to get home as early as possible. She exhaled as she packed her items into the large designer handbag on her desk, and grabbed her jacket. Though enthusing, it felt incredibly strange to be leaving the office so early. She gave it a once-over just to ensure that she wasn't forgetting to do anything. Confident that the day's duties were complete, her tall black heels clacked with determination through the office door, more than eager to get home to a certain quirky young woman.

Before heading out, Fiona stopped by her assistant's desk, surprised to see her still there. Noticing Eliza's head propped on her arm, the socialite couldn't quite tell if the girl had dozed off from an inevitable caffeine-induced crash. "Well you were right, Perry is going to be perfect for the position!" Her voice startled the other girl, causing her to jump in her chair. Fiona, spotting Eliza's smudged mascara and red eyes, quickly realized she had not been sleeping at all…she had been crying. "Whoa, hey, is everything okay?"

Embarrassed, Eliza grabbed a Kleenex from the corner of her desk and dabbed underneath her green eyes. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I finished everything, I was just about to pack up and go." With a deep inhale, she ran her fingers through her bangs and then released the air from her lungs. "I cannot believe I'm crying at work right now—I've become one of _those_ girls," her voice was laced with distain. Eliza stood up and began shifting the papers on her desk to the metal tray in front of her.

"Was it something I said?" Fiona asked, confused. "Honestly, I can be so dense sometimes and not even notice the ridiculous things that come out of my mouth. If it's something I did, I'm incredibly sor-"

"It wasn't you," the young blonde interrupted. "it's just…_ugh_." Reaching out, she grabbed a small 5x7 picture frame and handed it to her boss. "Today would have made three years."

Fiona held the picture, examining it. The two looked so happy together…so much in love—he was a tall, very handsome young man, with dark black hair and a muscular build. His face was lit up with a huge smile as he stared at the woman sitting next to him on the wooden park bench. Fiona had never seen Eliza look as gratified as she did in that photo. "Wow…" she set the frame down on the desk. "You made a beautiful couple." As the words left her lips, she kicked herself mentally. _Probably not the right thing to say in this instance, _her brain managed just a little too late_._ God, did she hate these types of situations. "I mean…" _words, think of words…_ "I'm sorry, I just…do you need to talk about it? Is there anything I can do?"

"No, really, it's okay. Just been a really long day."

The curly haired brunette nodded in understanding, unsure of whether or not it was appropriate to resume her journey home. As she went to slowly turn around, she saw the younger woman drop back into her chair, burying her face into her pale hands. The girl looked utterly broken—a feeling Fiona was all too familiar with. With added sympathy, Fiona pulled out the chair across from the girl's desk and placed her handbag on the floor as she lowered herself onto the cushion. "What happened?"

Eliza shook her head as a tear hit the top of the desk. "I really have no idea…everything was so perfect. One second we were talking about engagement and starting a family, and then we moved to this damn city…New York destroyed us. We grew so far apart that I didn't even notice when he started texting another girl."

"He cheated?" Fiona was completely surprised. The young man in the photo looked entirely too enamored with the girl to ever be able to do something like that.

"Yeah…they dated for almost a month before he broke it off and told me everything.

"Oh my gosh, Eliza. That's horrible. What an asshole," she affirmed.

The blond sighed, clearing her mind. "No, he's not an asshole. It's my fault too. Each day I was falling more in love with this city. And every piece of my heart that I gave to Manhattan, I was taking away from him."

"That doesn't excuse what he did. He should have talked to you if he was feeling neglected."

Shrugging her small shoulders, she threw her Kleenex away. "How do you and your wife do it? How do you manage to put all your effort into your jobs and not have to sacrifice your relationship?"

"Listen, if you think Imogen and I don't have our setbacks, you're wrong. It's been to the point before where it has seemed almost unsalvageable." The socialite felt a sense of guilt talking of such personal things with someone she barely knew, yet it was obvious that the young woman needed a friend now more than ever in that big, lonely city. "Our relationship is far from perfect—we've had to work extremely hard at times to keep it together. I'm not going to lie to you, Eliza, being so dedicated to my career has withered us down and taken its toll." Fiona glanced down at the diamond on her finger. It was glistening as it reflected the lit monitor, shining almost as bright as Imogen's smile. Her heart warmed just thinking of her smile. "But she is my everything…the only thing that I can't live without. So if it came down to it, I would choose her over my job any day. Can you say the same for Jared?"

"I know that I love him, I do," she said, staring at the picture. "And if I could go back and do things differently, I would, if it meant it would save us…but how do I forgive the affair?" She looked up at Fiona. "Would you be able to forgive Imogen if she cheated on you?"

Fiona's stomach turned at just the idea of it. If there was one thing that she had always been confident would not happen with them, it was cheating. But thinking more into it, she realized that no one really ever _expects_ to be cheated on. "There isn't much that I wouldn't be able to forgive Imogen for." She placed her hand on the other girl's and gave it a light squeeze. "But every situation is different. Only you know what's best for yourself, and what you can't live without." Fiona stood up and grabbed her purse from the floor, pushing the chair back to its position.

"Hey," the girl hesitated, "would you maybe want to grab that drink tonight? I don't know many people here, and could use a little time away from the office and my apartment."

Looking at her watch, the brunette scrunched her eyebrows. "Hmm…" It was almost nine now, and she really desired nothing more than to go home and spend this rare extra time with Imogen. "I'm really sorry, but can we do it a different night? I promised I would be home early tonight. Things have been a little tense lately, and I'm trying to do better about leaving here at reasonable times."

"That's completely understandable," Eliza grinned, "a rain check it is."

"You going to be okay?"

Giving a slight nod, she turned off her monitor and stood up, matching her boss's height. "Oh yes, I'll be fine. I have wine and a warm bath waiting for me at home. I'll see you in the morning."

Anxious to leave, her legs marched towards the elevator and then out towards the street. The harsh wind cut through her coat, but it wasn't long before she was in the cab and approaching their condo. 9:20 P.M. _Not too bad_, she thought to herself, hoping her wife was still awake. Quietly creeping through the doorway, Fiona noticed the room was dim, flickering with the light of a candle on the table—an odd scene to be greeted with. She placed her coat on the rack and then set her purse on the countertop. As soon as she was about to search for a sleeping Imogen, she felt two arms wrap around her waist from behind.

"Happy Fiona Coyne Day," the young woman whispered in her ear.

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**A/N: I've been so busy at work, but I've got so much more that I want to write in this story. It's really just getting started. I'm going to make a huge effort to pump some chapters out in the near future. Until then, thank you for all of your patience, and please keep reviewing! I love reading reviews!**


	8. Chapter 8- This Light

**Chapter 8-** This Light

Upon turning around, she received a light kiss. "Fiona Coyne Day?" the curly brunette questioned. "I thought those were all a thing of the past."

Imogen pulled Fiona towards the table and sat her down. "No, most certainly not, Mrs. Coyne. Fiona Coyne Day is the second most important holiday; they don't simply stop occurring." She walked into the kitchen, picked up two plates, and returned with them."

"_Second_ most important? What's the first?"

"Imogen Moreno Day, of course," the young woman teased. Uncovering the plates, she revealed a seafood pasta she had cooked. It was one of the many recipes that her father had passed down to her, and one that she knew her wife was always in the mood for, carbs be damned.

Fiona rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I even had to ask," she laughed. "This looks amazing, Immy, you didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to! I appreciate everything you do so much, and want to apologize for being so difficult sometimes. I know that you're doing the best you can, Fiones. If you need to keep working late, I get it. We'll get through it."

"Well actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I got the new assistant hired today, so I don't foresee many late nights in the near future. I want nothing more than to spend as much time with you as I can, especially before the baby gets here. Immy, you weren't overreacting when you said I spent too much time at work." The socialite sighed as thoughts of her assistant's failed relationship filled her head. "I can't lose you. I just can't. Please promise me that you'll always tell me if you need more from me. I don't want you to feel like you're overreacting or nagging or anything. Just please promise that-"

"Where is this coming from?" Imogen interrupted, as she stood up and moved to the chair closest to her wife. Her hands embraced Fiona's. "Hey…what is wrong?"

"Promise that you won't look for someone else, no matter how bad things may feel at the time. Just say you'll tell me so that I can figure out what I need to do to fix it."

The room was silent. Their plates remained untouched on the table as they sat, no longer having much of an appetite. Imogen sifted through the words running in her head, trying to figure out just how she could reassure her wife. It seemed throughout most of their relationship, the younger girl had become dependent on the other when it came to the security of their commitment. Almost always, it was Fiona that was confident that nothing could come between them, and it was unsettling to have the roles reversed.

"Imogen?"  
"There's something you need to know."

Fiona's stomach dropped at the words. '_Oh god, I'm too late.' _kept cycling around her thoughts. This conversation had taken an immediate plunge. How was Imogen capable of such a thing? She couldn't wrap her mind around it. Truth was, however, that she had neglected her wife for her job, and now she had to face the consequences. Nervously, her voice pushed through. "I forgive you."

Imogen's head jerked back, confused. "Wait, what? You forgive me for what?"

"Immy, I haven't been the best wife lately. I haven't given you anything close to the attention you deserve. I know it gets so lonely for you here when I'm not home…So I forgive you—for needing the companionship of someone else, I forgive you. I love you, and always, always, I'll forgive you."

The now insulted young woman dropped her wife's hands from her own and pushed back in her chair, creating an obvious distance between them. "What in the world are you talking about, Fiona? Are you serious?"

"Well you said you had to tell me something…and it was right after I was discussing that situation with you, so I assumed—"

"Exactly how little do you think of me?" Imogen interrupted. "Do you honestly think that I would ever be able to do that to you? Or that I would even have the slightest bit of desire to? God, Fiona, I was just going to tell you that you're the only person I have ever loved… _Will_ ever love. And that you need to know that you can trust me to never do _anything_ of that nature to you." Calming down, Imogen exhaled. "No matter how lonely it gets in this home when I don't have your arms to wrap around me, it would be a million times lonelier in someone else's."

Fiona couldn't help but sigh, feeling very relieved. "I'm so sorry, of course I don't think that of you. It's just this conversation I had with Eliza has me over-analyzing, and everything seems like its been so difficult for us lately," she said, running her fingers through her curls, "It seems like every conversation we have ends in some kind of argument. I've been home less than an hour and already I've ruined your dinner… I just don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw _us_ up."

Standing up from her seat, the quirky woman motioned for the curly brunette to follow her direction. "Look at me," she whispered. "Okay, now listen closely, because this is the last time we are ever going to have this conversation, understand?" Fiona nodded. "You are _not _screwing this up. I'm not going anywhere. We're going through a rough patch, sure—it happens. I'm sure it will happen again down the road, too, because forever is a long time to spend with someone without there being a few bumps in the road from time to time." She reached her small hands up and clasped her slender fingers around Fiona's neck. Leaning her head forward against her wife's, she continued with soft words, barely more audible than a breath. "I want this forever, Fiona. Don't you ever question that." As the last word escaped her lips, they were met with a chaste kiss from Fiona's, and silence surrounded the two young women.

Imogen intensified the kiss, furthering it towards something more, but was quickly slowed down by her wife. "Hey…" Fiona hesitated, "do you mind if we just go lay down and talk tonight?"

A puzzled look developed on the quirky girl's face. "Fiona Coyne, the woman with more hormones than my teenage brother, just wants to _talk?_ Okay, I guess we really _are _going through a rough patch," she chuckled, though not sure if she should be offended by the rejection.

"No, it's nothing about that. I just really miss talking with you. And if feels like its been ages since we've been able to just…_hang out_, you know?"

Understanding all too well, Imogen grinned, thinking of just how nice it was to have her soul-mate home tonight. Cuddled up under the blankets with her beautiful fashionista, deep in conversation, sounded like the perfect ending to their Fiona Coyne Day. "I'd love that, Fiones." Picking up the two plates of untouched pasta, Imogen went to turn towards the kitchen. "Let me just put this up, then I'll be right in there."

"Actually," Fiona reached for Imogen's arm to stop her from walking any further, "bring those with us. We can eat them in bed."

Her wife's brown eyes lit up instantly, "A picnic on the pillows? Can we really?" she squealed, much too enthused to even attempt to hide it. She gave her wife a peck on the cheek, and then bounced into the bedroom with their plates before Fiona even had time to respond.

Entirely amused, Fiona rolled her eyes, blew out the candle, and followed her goofy companion through the glass paned French-doors. As she swung them closed behind her, she caught a reflection of Imogen hopping onto the bed with their dinner, not being nearly careful enough to not spill. Her heart panged at how happy she felt in that moment. With a travelling mind, her thoughts drifted to that of their impending arrival. While exciting, it also scared her that adding a child into the equation might wear down on an already fragile state of their relationship…and she couldn't lie to herself that she really enjoyed the rare alone time she was able to spend with Imogen, instantly becoming concerned about how much alone time they would have together once they had their baby boy. The uncertainty was overwhelming.

"Hey, are you coming? Or is the door more interesting than my seafood pasta? Not like I spent two hours cooking it or anything…" There was sass heavily evident in Imogen's tone.

Snapping out of her apprehension, she was thankful to have her train of thought interposed. Fiona kicked off her heels, climbed into bed next to the feisty young woman, and decided to take everything one day at a time, letting the future's ambiguity to be dealt with another day.


	9. Chapter 9- Fairytale

**Chapter 9-** Fairytale

"You know," Imogen started as she hung up one of the many golden and glistening ornaments laying inside of the large container next to their tree, "it's any day now that we will be parents, and we still haven't discussed names. Don't you think it's finally time to lock it down, Fiones?"

Fiona was comfortably stretched out on the couch with her latte in hand. She wagged her slender finger, signaling that Imogen move the ornament slightly to the left. Imogen always had a tendency of picking the most bare and pitiful looking Christmas trees, rationalizing that they deserved good homes too, so Fiona had to utilize every bit of her perfectionist eye to ensure that the finished product was 'Upper-East Side' worthy. "I know, I know, I've been putting it off way too long. I just get nervous that we will pick out a name that we fall in love with and somehow jinx the whole situation." Lifting her mug, she took a sip of her warm coffee. "It's just scary to get our hopes up, when so much could happen between now and then." The socialite, though she tried to hide it, still harbored an unsettling feeling ever since she had spotted Hayley in the baby bed store a couple weeks prior.

Stepping down from the small step stool, Imogen's eyes perused the variety of ornaments she had left to choose from. Deciding on a long glass icicle, she picked up a hook and laced it through the small metal loop. "Don't worry, everything is going really well with Hayley's pregnancy. I've been talking to her every day, and she's as excited about the delivery as we are! She told me on Wednesday that she can't wait to see the look on our faces when we meet our son." Her arm reached up for one of the taller branches as she slid the hook across the pine needles.

Fiona watched as the ornament dangled a few inches away from a gaping hole that desperately needed to be filled, making her realize it would probably be easier if she took it upon herself to go back and reposition them later that night, long after her wife fell asleep. "The tree is looking great, Immy," she flashed a sweet and encouraging smile at the quirky young woman, not wanting to hurt Imogen's feelings by constantly telling her how to decorate. Normal people loved Christmas, but Imogen _really_ loved Christmas, and filling the home with holiday spirit made her happier than toe socks and ice-cream combined. So the curly haired brunette chose not to do or say anything that might take away from her wife's enthusiasm.

"Thank you," Imogen nodded, agreeing with Fiona. She, for one, was fully confident in her hanging abilities. "Now stop trying to change the subject!"

"Fiiiine." The empty mug was placed on the end table beside the couch. Sitting up straight, Fiona adjusted the blanket to cover her feet. Imogen always kept their condo fifteen degrees colder during the Christmas season, because she claimed it should feel as though they were actually in the North Pole. As with most of her quirks, Fiona found it amusing and complied. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Well actually I have been making a list!" Reaching inside of the back pocket of her jeans, she retrieved a folded piece of computer paper that she had typed multiple names on in various fonts and colors.

Fiona's eyes widened as she realized just how much thought Imogen had been devoting to this already. She couldn't help but wonder if the younger girl kept the list in her pocket everywhere she went, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice whenever the conversation finally came up. "Okay…" Narrowing her gaze, she tried to see if she could make out the names from where she was sitting. But even the size twenty-four letters on the paper was far too small to be distinguishable at that distance. "Well, what did you come up with?"

Imogen skipped over to the couch and plopped next to her wife. Clearing her throat, she smoothed the creases of the paper. "Okay, well my first thought was to name him in tribute to where we had our first kiss—Ferris."

"Ferris?" The name hit Fiona's ears like a broken chord. "You want to name our son _Ferris?"_ She could not even attempt to hide the repulsion on her face. "As in Bueller?"

"Jeepers, Fiona, I thought it was cute! Clearly your diva-attitude is immune to the certain charm it has."

"Cleary it is," the socialite quipped, giving no budging room at all on this name. "Next!"

Imogen pondered the list, going over each of the remaining ones. "Hmm…" She gave much thought as to which one she should propose next, cautious to not scare an already apprehensive Fiona away from the topic altogether. "Well for this particular name, I was inspired by one of my all time favorite things! I couldn't help but add it to the list. I just know you'll love this one, Fiones!"

Shaking her head, Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose and squinted her eyes. She knew her wife way too well to not know where this is going. "Is it a name of one of the Harry Potter characters?"

"Yes!" Imogen's heart jumped, assuming this meant her wife was automatically on board.

"Next."

The younger woman's jaw dropped. "But Fiona, it's a really good one! It's not even a main character; as much as I would have loved pick one of those. I figured we could meet halfway with Cedr-"

"Neeeext," her voice was stern as it interrupted the second option. The socialite was becoming more discouraged by her wife's first suggestions. How would they ever agree on one name when their tastes were just so different? As Imogen picked the list back up, Fiona laid her head back into the cushions, feeling a hint of anxiety resurface within her.

Watching her wife's obvious discomfort, Imogen's heart sank. She gave the list one more look, then crinkled it into a ball and dropped it inside of the empty mug on the end table. Resting her head on Fiona's shoulder, she reached down and intertwined their fingers. "There's no rush to decide right now," the younger woman reassured. "We will come up with something…_together," _she emphasized.

Tightening her grasp around the tan fingers, Fiona sighed. "It's not the names, Im. It's just everything feels like its happening so fast. And I'm nervous to get attached and something happen that screws up the whole process. Or even worse, what if I keep my guard up so much that I _don't_ get attached to him at all? What if I'm a horrible mother?"

"You're not going to be a horrible mother, Fiones. You're the most generous and caring person that I know. You have so much patience and love in your heart, that I have no doubt you will be a fantastic mom to our son. And trust me, becoming attached _is going_ to happen, whether you want it to or not. As soon as you look into his eyes, you'll fall so head over heels in love that your feelings for me will seem pathetic in comparison."

Fiona scoffed, "Oh mon dieu, Madame Dramatic. No matter how much I love this child, my feelings for you will _never _seem pathetic or trivial." She placed a kiss on the top of her wife's resting head, and let her mind navigate her surroundings. The longer she looked at the tree, the more she grew to appreciate the odd locations Imogen had chosen for each ornament. It had an undeniable charisma that made her question how she ever thought she could do any better.

Through the window behind the tree, a brightly illuminated advertisement caught her attention. It was announcing the one-time showing of one of Charles Dicken's most famous novels being brought to life on the Broadway stage. She read the title, then read it again and let it resonate…It was perfect. "What are your thoughts on the name Oliver?" she asked with a hushed voice, feeling vulnerable for suggesting a name at all.

Imogen perked her ears up immediately, opening her deep brown eyes. "Oh my goodness, Fiona, that's it! Our Oliver!" she lunged forward, nearly tackling the fashionista. "Oh, oh, oh, and we could call him Ollie for short!" her excitement was bursting at the seams. "See Fiona, just ten minutes ago we had nothing, and now we have a name complete with a nick-name! I'm telling you, everything is falling into place for us. You really need to stop being such a worry-wart," she teased.

Imogen was exactly right, though, Fiona concluded. She was spending way too much time stressing over situations that _could _happen that it was preventing her from seeing the beauty in what _was_ happening—They were growing their small family. They were becoming _parents._ The life she'd always dreamed of having with the person she'd always dreamed of being with was a reality. As that realization sank further in, she wondered if it was even possible to feel more complete than she did in that instant…and she was eager to find out.

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**A/N: This story still has a lot more to come! Thanks for reading, and all reviews are encouraged as I love to read them!**


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